Tainted Love
by Angry Pencil Wielder
Summary: Welcome to the Circus, amongst the smiling dead, where the Grinning King and Poison Queen dress in bleeding red. Welcome to the Circus, please don't run, come on in, it'll be bloody fun. (Joker/Oc) Hiatus
1. Prologue

Monsters are born, not made. Madness is a seed, blessed upon a lucky few at conception, and if allowed to grow, blossoms into a deadly flower. Chris is a flower, born of tragedy, raised in fear, her only rock being a boy with a forever grin. Together, they grow into something horrifically gorgeous. Their love is tainted, and together they will burn the world...

* * *

 **A.N.** _So, yeah, ANOTHER story. Readers say wha? Okay, so I've watched the Dark Knight... five times in a row now? And have become a little bit Joker obsessed. I've read a bunch of Joker/Oc fics, and realized, there's not a lot of evil Oc's out there. Most of them are innocent little girlies that are corrupted by our dear maniac. So, I wanted to try going a different route with a lady as messed up as the Joker._

 _I'm also working on my own original stuff, of which as its own crazies, so this is helping with developing my own characters. Whoop whoop._

 _I'm probably not going to update for a while since I have finals coming up, but once summer rolls around I'll be updating all my stories, specifically Black Suns, Still-Born, and Age of Redemption._

 ** _Disclaimers and Warnings:_** _This fic is going to be violent, gory, sensual, and full of language. It'll also be erratically paced, switching between past and present often._

 _Also, I don't own Dark Knight, Batman, Joker, or anything else. Just plot and Ocs._

* * *

Prologue

James Gordon tiredly slipped into his office chair, dark bags under his eyes. In his hands he held a thin plastic disk.

He blankly stared at the dark computer monitor in front of him. He didn't want to see what was on that disk. He really didn't. But it was his job.

He pressed the power button on the computer. Lazily, the device slowly woke up. Its blue screen flickered on, a box in the center asking for his password. With deft hands, Gordon typed in the seven letters and hit enter. A picture of his smiling wife and children met his gaze. Gordon chocked back a sob. He pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

Three years.

Three years ago, the horror known as the Joker appeared. In less than a week, the madman had struck terror not just all of Gotham, but the world.

But then he had been captured. Found hanging upside down from a twenty story building, laughing his lungs out.

He'd gone to Arkham straight after.

Then it had all gone to hell...

With shaking hands, Gordon slipped the plastic circle into place. The computer made a soft hum as the disk disappeared into its bowls. The video icon popped up on the screen, then the program loaded and the screen went black. A white arrow materialized, an invitation for the video to begin.

Gordon's hand moved to rest just above the mouse. He stared at that little white triangle, emotions raging.

Suddenly, he wasn't sitting safely in his office. Now, fires burned around him, screams pierced the air. A little girl cried for help, his wife's tear-streaked face just before she was blown up, Batman, laying broken in a puddle of red...

Gordon snapped himself from his past. He listed a hand to his face. Wetness met his finger tips. Taking a shaky breath, Gordon pressed play...

The screen lit up to show a woman staring back. She had tired blue eyes and brown hair streaked with grey, although she couldn't be much older than her mid thirties.

"Hello, my name is Doctor Young." Said the woman. "In an attempt to help rehabilitate some of my more... difficult patients, I have decided to experiment with a new form of therapy. It is unlike most of the treatments I have tried before, simple yet hopefully effective. Merely providing a video diary for a patient, unrestricted, unobserved."

She shifted in her seat. "My first attempt will be with a new patient of mine, Christina Stafor. My hopes are high, as she has already responded well to similar treatment."

She gave a tired smile at the camera. "Wish me luck."

The video went blank for a moment, then reappeared with the image of another woman. Unlike Young, she didn't look to be stressed to the breaking point. Rather, a wide close-mouthed smile lit up her expression. Greasy hair the color of dried blood hung over her pale face in messy ringlets. Her lips were pale and thin and her face was gaunt. Framed by thick lashes were a pair of miss-matched eyes, one ice-pale blue, the other so brown it was black.

Thin pale flesh rose from the corners of her lips and stretched to her cheekbones in faux smile. Another scar stretched across her neck, deep and thick. Even more blemishes covered the rest of her body.

She was neither ugly nor pretty, but wild.

Looking into the camera, there was madness in her two-toned eyes. Her grin widened to show a row of crooked but white teeth. Her canines were oddly elongated, with one of them chipped to appear almost like a fang.

A trilling giggle bubbled up from her chest and out her lips. She leaned lose to the camera, near enough to brush her nose against the lens.

"Hel- _oo_." She sang at the camera. "My name's..." Her eyes faded out of focus, "my name's Chris... Chris..." Her eyes lit up again. "No! I know!" She slapped her knee and giggled. "I'm Chaos! Ha! Chaos!" Her face became blank again. "Death Adder... Chaos..." She murmured.

"Names... what are names... just a joke... a Joke! Ha!" She tossed her hands in the air, flashing more scars criss-crossing her wrists.

On her left ring finger was a final scar, jagged and twisting. The woman glanced down at the scar on her finger, her grin fading into a kind smile.

"My wedding ring..." She murmured. She jerked up, eyes alight. "That's right! I'm suppose to, eh, 'tell my story'." She snorted.

She leaned back in her seat. " _Wheeeeell_ , I was born... 1977?" She nodded to herself. "Yup. That's right. I'm, eh, twenty nine."

She leaned forward, her eyes shinning with insanity, "My name is Chaos, and... I'm married to the Joker."

With that, the screen went dark.


	2. Start On This Hallowed Path

**A.N. EDIT:** _So I went back and changed this from 3rd person to 1st. I just left like it suited the situation and atmosphere better. I'll probably switch between 3rd and 1st a lot, due to the erratic nature of this story and it's main chatacter(s)._

* * *

 **Part One: Chapter One**

 **Start On This Hallowed Path**

* * *

 _"We were two broken kids, living in a broken home. All we had was each other. Sometimes... sometimes I would make-believe mama actually loved me. I'd pretend she named me Chris.. cuz it was my father's name, and not some man she slept with once for money then forgot about. I'd pretend she... she'd loved him, and they'd, ah, planned on running away together. But then he'd died, and my heartbroken mama named me after him, because she loved him, and loved me. But, buuut.. she didn't. She never loved me."_

* * *

 **1992**

"Stupid bitch!" I ducked my head as Paul once more kicked me. I bit back any noise as his boot made contact with my ribs. The impact was enough to make me bruise, but I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

"You stupid fucking bitch!" Paul roared in his drunken stupor. Meryl laughed from her seat on the shitty couch, a beer in her hand sloshing around. Several more empty bottles lay at her feet.

I refused to look at my mother, knowing I would get no help from the woman. Meryl was perfectly fine with her boyfriend beating the shit out of her daughter.

Paul stumbled back, his face red. With one last insult, he leaned forward and spit on me. The alcohol soaked spittle hit me in the face. I barely flinched as I lay on the stained carpet.

Loosing interest in his girlfriend's spawn, Paul fell back on the couch and started to grope Meryl, who drunkenly giggled in return.

His attention finally away from me, I crawled to my feet and left the room as quickly as I could.

Only once I was inside the 'safety' of my room did I let myself break down. I collapsed in a corner and silently cried in the dark.

I was there for only a minute when the window to my shared room creaked open. Teary eyes, I glanced up to see a lithe form crawl through the beaten hole.

"J-jack..." I sobbed. The boy's dark gaze snapped to my. Immediately he rushed over. Gently as he could, Jack lifted me and carried me to the small bathroom. He flipped on the light and closed the door with his foot before setting me down.

He gently removed my top to check the damage done, leaving on my simple black bra. The left side of my chest was covered in bruises and several shallow cuts. The rest of me was littered in scars, some newer than others.

Jack pulled open the cabinet under the sink to take out their small first aid kit and started to dress my wounds with expert hands.

"I'm so sorry I wan't here." He whispered as my best friend patched me up.

I shook my head. "It wasn't... your fault." I murmured back, eyes shut tight in pain though my voice was even.

"I could have done something." He argued half heartedly.

"No, you, mh, couldn't have. Your father's... too deep in, the mob. Fighting back would just...just get us both killed." I slurred in my broken speech pattern. Ever since I got my head bashed into a brick wall, I had trouble speaking normal, slurring my words together and pausing at random moments.

"I jah-just can't believe my mother sees anything in, mh, him..." I flinched when Jack poured some rubbing alcohol on one of my deeper cuts

Jack laughed bitterly. "She's as fucked up as he is. But if those two hadn't... you know, we'd never have met." He pointed out.

"Yea _h_." I murmured. "Always a silver lining, mh, even if it's more of a grrrey-ish brown..." I laughed brokenly.

"Where, erm, where were you?" I mumbled.

"Work." He whispered as if ashamed. Knowing him, he was.

I tapped his cheek none-too-gently. "Hey, you, um, stop the self pitty, got it?" My tongue ran over my teeth. "You kill people for, mh, money." I shrugged. "Doesn't, ehm, bother me." The first rule of the Narrows was kill or be killed. Especially for a mob kid. To make your way in the underworld, you had to do what you were told, and in Jack's case it was being told to shoot. In a dog eat dog world, you pay your rent in blood. It was either take out enemy thugs, or Paul would take out Jack. Such was our life.

Jack shook his head. "You're crazy Chrissy."

"Guilty as charged, but _you_ are, erm, too." I frowned at his downcast expression. "Why so serious Jacky-boy? Put a smile on that face." I reached up with a pale thin hand and gently flicked his nose. He gave me a twisted smirk, his Glasgow grin making it look even wider.

"That's, erm, that's better. I hate seeing you frown. Promise me, mh, promise me you'll always smile."

Jack sighed, but the smile didn't leave his face, just for me. "Fine." Always for me.

"Pinky promise?" I asked innocently.

Jack rolled his eyes and held out his pinky. "Pinky promise." We hooked pinkies.

"Rem _e_ mber Jackie-boy, you gotta break your, erm, pinky if you break your promise." I wiggled my pinky finger for emphasis.

"Sure thing Chrissy-girl."

I pulled my lip between her teeth, suddenly nervous. My miss-matched eyes locked onto Jack's almost-black ones. Slowly, nervously, I leaned closer. He didn't pull back, but neither did he move forward. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned forward all the way and our lips softly touched.

It was the first time I'd ever kissed anyone, in all my fifteen years. And it was... wonderful. Slowly, Jack started to return the kiss. My lips moved against his scarred ones, the sensation igniting goosebumps along my arms.

Carefully raising my hand, I took hold of the back of his head, twisting my hand in his sandy blond-brown hair. Jack responded by drawing me closer.

We slowly broke apart, eyes lidded. Jack wrapped his arms around me and pulled me on his lap, where we were content to just sit and be held.

Jack ran feather-light touches over me scarred wrists while I gently ran a thumb across his Glasgow grin. In the nine years I'd known him, he still refused to tell me how it had come to be. I didn't really mind. I had scars of my own that I didn't want to share about.

"We'll get out. I swear, someday we'll get out." Jack murmured beside my ear.

We would, just not now. There was too much risk, too much danger. We knew, if Jack ever hinted at leaving, I would be killed. Paul had always made that clear. I was Jack's weakness, and I hated it.

"One day." I agreed. "One day we'll, eh, kill them, and we'll be free..."


	3. Snakes And Ladders

**AN:** _Sorry if the switch between 1st and 3rd is confusing, but I feel like it works with Chris' mental state and how she views her different personalities/aliases._

* * *

 **Part One: Chapter Two**

 **Snakes and Ladders**

 _"I worked as a detective. Worked on the side of justice. I was a good guy. At least on the surface. Beneath...beneath I was a killer. I serial killer. I murdered for the fun of it. Fun... oh was it fun! Hearing them squirm and squeal! Humans... humans are so pathetic. So selfish. Me, I'm not human. Not like you. You call me a monster, and maybe I am. I don't want to part of your pathetic species._

 _So I tell myself I'm not human._

 _And ya know... sometimes I actually believe it."_

* * *

 **2007**

Detective Grey stepped into the Gotham Police Station with a confidant swagger to her step. Her stringy hair was pulled into a sloppy bun, colored like dried blood. Her piercing gaze caused the officers who glanced up at her to involuntarily shiver, drawing away from her dark brown gaze.

"Jill!" Called a uniformed man as he hurried up beside her. "We've got another one." He handed her a file, his face pale.

Jill took the file and pursed her lips. Flipping it open revealed a photo of a crime scene. But unlike most Gotham homicides (which were normally a simple gunshot or stab wound), this corpse had been hacked to little pieces.

 _I hid her pride of this particular work behind tight lips and a dull gaze_. "So the Death Adder strikes again." She mussed.

"That's the fourth one." Said the officer. Jill glanced over him. He was a young thing, just out of his teens, with strawberry blond hair and a light sprinkle of freckles. _Innocent. Probably never shot anyone before. Never had the blissful experience of killing another human. I pitied the child._

"Where was this one found?" She asked, though she already knew.

"On the east side of the Narrows. He keeps getting closer to the bridge. At this rate, he'll be killing in downtown soon."

 _I had to fight back an eye roll at the police's assumption that Death Adder was male. Stupid little children._

"So there was venom found in the body?" She asked, looking over the photo again.

The boy nodded. "Just like the others. Couple drops of death adder venom in the bloodstream."

Jill chewed on her cheek. Snake venom. _It was such a fun way to kill. While death adder venom rarely killed, it was extremely painful and a great torture tool._ In the four Death Adder kills, none of the victims had died from the venom, rather blood-loss from missing limbs or a slit throat, whichever came first.

Jill sighed, trying to keep up the tired criminologist act. "I'm gonna look these over. Get me when the body gets to the morgue." She instructed before making her way to her office. Inside I locked the door and let myself slowly relax. The office was small and dark, holding very few personal affects. Here, I could drop my act. I could toss away Jill's skin and be me. Jill, she was so simple, so weak. I could hardly consider her myself. No, she was a puppet, and I the puppeteer. I couldn't call Jill myself, she wasn't myself.

I sat down in my worn swivel chair and tossed to file onto my desk. The dark room was comforting and cool. It was a haven from the oppressive summer sun. Leaning over my desk, I snatched up a worn yellow folder filled to the brim with paper. Setting it in my lap, I flicked it open and started going through the information inside. Blurry photos, newspaper clippings, and scrawled out notes shuffled around as I sorted through them.

Titles such as _"Gotham's Newest Hero; Rise Of The Batman"_ and _"A Mist Of Fear Strikes The Narrows; Police Baffled"_ sneered back at me.

I pressed my lips tight together in thought. I was close, I could feel it. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. This hero, this _Batman,_ he intrigued me. It was an intrigue I hadn't felt in three years, a feeling I sorely missed.

This Batman might prove to be fun, I mused. Maybe he could fill that part of me that I'd lost- _no! Nothing_ could _ever_ fill that void, not even Gotham's dark knight.

I threw the folder across the small office, shrieking in anger. My fists clenched and unclenched, shaking.

My heart twisting in turmoil, I spun on my heels and stalked out of the room. I needed to blow something up, or at the very least cut it into little pieces.

Luckily, there was a body waiting in the morgue just for me.

* * *

~Nine Hours Later~

* * *

Jill Grey was the good to Death Adder's bad. Two sides of a coin. The Yin to the other's Yang. It was the way she worked. Where there was destruction, there also had to be creation. That was the root of chaos. Good where bad was expected and bad where good was expected. To take you must also give.

Jill stumbled back into her small apartment int he west side of Gotham, dead tired from her day at the GPD.

They hadn't found anything on the body. Just a corpse carved like a domestic pig set for dinner. No prints, no traceable DNA, not even an idea as to what caused the actual death. Death Adder was flawless in their killings, leaving nothing but a gory mess.

Jill tossed her keys onto her small wood dinner table and fell limp on her overstuffed couch. She was so damn tired...

After a good thirty minutes of laying aimlessly on the sofa, Jill forced herself onto her feet and shuffled into her bedroom. The small room was dark and cluttered, though everything was organized in it's own messed up way that only the owner would understand.

Her bed was made and it appeared that no one had slept in it for weeks, maybe months. Not far from the truth...

Bypassing her bed, Jill made her way to the small bathroom connected. She flicked on the lights, blinking at the sudden brightness, and leaned over the counter. Her dark brown eyes stared sharply at her reflection.

Reaching up, she pulled her stringy hair out of its pony tail and let it fall haphazardly around her shoulders.

She reached up and let her thin fingers brush against the side of her lips. Opening a drawer, she took out a small glass bottle and opened it. Taking up a towel, she poured a small amount of the yellowish liquid on the cloth and started wiping it on her cheeks. Small bits of makeup and latex came off as Jill uncovered her scars.

"Jack and Jill went up a hill," She murmured, "to fetch a pail of water. But water it wasn't, blood instead, so pretty and filled with red. Jack and Jill, oh did they kill, filling that pail with red water. Then 'Bang" a shot to the head, and dear old Jack was dead, leaving Jill to fall down after."

She dropped the cloth in the sink. The makeup gone, her Glasgow smile was finally on display. Leaning forward to get a better look in the mirror, she pulled opened her eyes and fingered out her colored contacts. The two dark disks were gently set in a container waiting to the left of the sink. Her natural miss-matched gaze returned, Jill's persona melted away to become Chris once more.

I tied back my hair and turned on the sink. Then I pumped out some face wash and went about cleaning myself up.

That done, I left her bathroom. Inside my bedroom, I quickly undressed and slipped on a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top.

Finally, I made my way to my office. Inside I was met with a wall full of glass terrariums, each home to a deadly reptile.

I brushed my thin fingers over the glass, greeting each snake as I went.

"Hello Calypso," the pigmy rattlesnake. "Hello Zeus," the chain viper. "Hello Hades," the inland taipan. "Hello Scotch," the bushmaster. "Hello Pumpkin," the palbara death adder.

I paused at the last cage. "Hello Jack." I greeted. There was a hint of sadness to my voice as I gazed at my most prized snake. My gut clenched painfully as I looked at the beautiful reptile. The albino indian cobra stared back at me with bright red eyes.

I knelt down and opened a cabinet beneath the line of terrariums. Inside was a dozen or so white mice, ambling about, unaware of their fate.

I opened up the cage and gently picked up one of the rodents before closing it up once again. Standing back up, I opened up the lid Jack's cage and dropped the mouse in. I watched is sick amusement as my prized boy struck, devouring the rodent, still kicking.

* * *

I lay awake in bed, unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling.

Names, aliases, titles. They raced through my head. It wasn't what a person was called, I mused, but what they did that defined them. The problem with someone like me was that I was many people in one.

Jill was a criminologist, a detective and a police officer. One the side of righteousness.

Christina was a scared little girl, abused by the world and left to rot.

Death Adder was a serial killer, praying on anyone and everyone. The beast made no distinction between good and bad, simply killed.

Chaos, the force of nature that both birthed and destroyed. A killer who would stop a raping, cut off the offender's dick and let him bleed to death. But also the beast who would sever an infant's head and toss it into the lap of its mother.

But my favorite persona of all was Chris Napier, my true self. The person I always wanted to be, living forever till death do we part with the only person to ever understand me.

But Jack was gone, dead, and I was alone.

He'd been killed three years prior, lost in fire and gasoline. And I was forced to become not a person, but an idea. The light and the dark of Gotham, because without my other half, there was no one to balance me out.

One side to kill, the other to save.

Unknown to me, just a few months away, all that would be turned on its head when the dead came back to haunt the world and the glass unshattered itself.

The Clown Prince of Chaos would be born, and his Bloody Queen would rise from the ashes of the world we would burn.

And would it burn...


	4. The Second Video

**Part One: Chapter Three**

 **The Second Video**

* * *

Jim Gordon's computer screen faded to black. White letters lit up the middle spelling. **"Session Two: June 1 2010"** This video was recorded three weeks before the first he'd watched. Gordon was unsure why they were set to play out of order, but he brushed it aside as the video started.

The black vanished to once again show a different room than the one in the first clip. Both women from before were present in the image, this time sitting across from each other at a steel table bolted to the ground. The camera was angled so that the viewer could see both the faces of Dr Young and her patient.

Young sat strait in her seat, hands folded in front of her with a strained smile on her lips. Her cloths consisted of a cream blouse and black dress skirt with black pumps and hair pulled up into a tight bun.

Chris, on the other hand, was slouched down in her seat, arms strapped in a straight jacket, and cuffs around her ankles attached to her bolted chair. A lazy grin lip up her face as she gazed unnervingly at the psychologist.

She leaned forward, the soft jingle of the chains containing her making the atmosphere even creepier. "Soooo, doctor." Chris drawled. "Wha _t_ do you want to talk about today?"

Young swallowed thickly, but didn't let her nerves show aside from that. "Can you tell me about your childhood?" She asked carefully.

"My childhood? Sure. Why not?" Chris shook her head to get her bangs out of her face. "Where. To. Start. Hmmm... We _llll_ I never had a dad. Never new him. Not sure my _mother_ even did. She was a prostitute, my mommy. Who knows which one of lays was the one who helped make me." Chris started tapping her foot to a silent beat as she continued. "What else? The first time I killed I was three. Not a person mind you. Well, first time I remember doing it. There was a large spider in my room. Instead of running to get my mother or squishing it, I sat down next to it and started to pull its legs off. one. by. one. When it was just a little body I squished it with my thumb. I think I was five when I killed my first lizard. It was one of those little green ones you see outside all the time. I tried catching it, but all I got was its tail. You know how they break off? That's what happened. I grabbed the tail and it broke. And it just... wiggled. Kept wiggling around and twitching until it stopped. I wanted it to keep twitching. So I caught another one, but this time the lizard stayed attached. I wanted to see if the lizard would twitch and wiggle like the tail did. So I got a stick and started pocking it. I pocked it harder and harder until the lizard went from green to red. And you know what? It did twitch and wiggle!"

She beamed at Young. "It was wiggling and wiggling so much! Then it was twitching and quirting red, and then it stopped... it wasn't much fun after that. Just sat there squirting. So I got a new one. I'm not sure how many lizards I've played with in my life. Lots I guess."

Chris shrugged.

"I was nine when I killed the neighbor's dog. It wouldn't stop _barking_. Just bark bark bar _k_! So anno _yi_ ng. Sooo, I snu _ck_ out one night, grabbed mommy's steak knife, and carved up the little puppy like Ch _r_ ist _mas_ dinner." She started cackling. "O _hh_ the neighbor kids cried and cried the next morning when they say their little puppy with its insides suddenly on the outsides!"

Chris shook her head, like it was such a mystery as to why children would cry over their dead pet. It probably was to her.

"Don' _t_ get me wron- _g_ here. I love doggies. Just the big ones who like to _eat_ people." She threw her head back and laughed. "I had some of those once. Four bi _g_ ba _d_ puppies who tore up people I didn't li _k_ e. That is, when I didn't tear them up first!"

Dr Young swallowed thickly. Her blue eyes were wide as she watched her patient dissolve into a fit of hysterics.

"You talk like him." Young said suddenly.

Chris jerked her head up to stare at the other woman. Her head slowly tilted to the side. "Talk like who?"

"The Joker."

Chris threw her head back and laughed. The chilling giggled filled the small room, echoing around the white space and making it seem even more eery.

It took neer a minute for Chris' laughter to subside, and even then she still giggled. " _I_ talk like _him_?" She giggled again. "No, no-no-noooo, _he_ talks like _me_!"

"What do you mean?" Inquired Young.

Chris' tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth, then drew back in with a ' _smack_ '. "I mean, he started talking like that about... hmm.. ten years ago?" Her lips pursed together in a way that could almost be considered cute. "Yeah, it think it was ten years ago. Maybe a little more." She shrugged, but the action was hampered due to the straight jacket.

"I got my head bashed into a brick wall. It ah, caused some dam _age_ to my brain." She giggled. "Never went to a doctor for i _t._ So I had to go to school talkin _g_ li _ke_ th _i_ sss." Her giggled turned once more into full blown laughter.

"But what does that have to do with the Joker talking like you?" Asked Young.

Chris' face went from laughter to simmering anger faster than an eye blink. "I was ge _tting_ to that." She hissed. A cheerful smile lit up her features a moment later. "At school, all the other kids _laughed_ at me. It hurt. It _really_ did. I was already considered a fr _-eak_. So, Jack started talking like me, to make me feel better about myself. And it worked."

"Jack?" Asked Dr Young, confused.

Chris lifted out of her chair as far as the chains would let her. "Havn't you been listening! Are you really that _dumb_?!" When Young flinched back, Chris sat back down with dark satisfaction.

"I want a different shrink." She announced suddenly. Young opened her mouth, but Chris interrupted her before she could get a word out. "I don't like you. Get me someone else." Her eyes lit up suddenly. "I want the shrink you used on the Joker. Get me her."

Young opened and closed her mouth like a fish before nodding and slowly standing back up. Chris watched her leave, satisfaction written clear on her face.

The camera blinked out only to come back on seconds later, though the time in the corner of the screen read nearly forty minutes had passed.

Instead of Dr Young, another psychiatrist sat across from Chris. She was younger, with light blonde hair pulled into a bun and a pair of glasses perched on her nose. Her expression was bright and open and her eyes sparkled with intelligence.

But there was something hidden behind those bright eyes, but Gordon hadn't a clue what it was.

The woman smiled. "Hello. My name is Harleen Quinzel."

Chris just stared at her, a small, amused smile twitching against her scared cheeks.

"So, you said your name is Christina-"

" _Chris!_ My. name. is. _Chris_!" The woman roared, straining against her restraints. Harleen remained calm in the face of her patient's fury, though she did tense the slightest bit. She was weary of Chris, that was clear. Probably a good thing too. It was dangerous to get comfortable around people like her.

"I'm sorry, Chris then."

Chris relaxed back in her chair. She took a deep breath through her nose. "Don't ever, _ever_ call me that again. Understand?" She growled.

Harleen nodded calmly. "Of course." She leaned forward and folder her hands on the table. "Do you have a last name, Chris?"

Miss-matched eyes stared at the blonde for a long, tense moment, before Chris slowly nodded. When she didn't speak, Harleen pressed, "Can you tell me what it is?"

A small smile peaked at the corner of Chris' mouth. "Napier." She said simply.

"Napier?" Harleen asked. She didn't touch the notepad beside her, didn't even look at it. One would think she'd be jotting down pages of notes on what the woman said, yet Harleen just watched. Perhaps she just had an excellent memory. Plus, the session was being recorded, so she didn't need to copy down that Chris said.

"Chris Napier." Harleen tried out. "Now we have a name to go with the face. We have no records of you. Birth certificate, fingerprints, medical records. You're a ghost."

Chris smirked. "Exactly."

Harleen raised a brow. "Then why tell me your name?"

Chris leaned back. "Well, Harley," she licked her lips. "people like me don't exactly have the longest life expectancy."  
Harleen seemed surprised. "You think you're going to die?"

Chris threw her head back and laughed. "Of course! Everyone died, just like everything burns." She smiled darkly.

"But you think you're going to die sooner rather than later."

"Of course. With an... _occupation_ , like mine, there really isn't a retirement plan. If I don't get the lethal injection, I'm bound to get shot by a trigger happy cop, or even go up in flames with one of my own bombs." She giggled. "However I go out, I know it will be spectacular. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Harleen nodded. "So you think you're going to die soon, what does that have to do with telling me your identity?"

Chris licked her lips again. "Everyone wants to be remembered. Everyone wants to leave a legacy."

"Isn't the destruction and chaos enough?"

Chris shook her head. "No, no _o,_ you miss the point of the chaos. It's not just for the fun of it, though it is really, _really,_ fun. No, it's to show people that, no matter how good they like to pretend they are, they're all monster inside. Some just hide it better than others. That's where _we_ come in. The Joker and I. We draw out those monsters, lay their dirty little secrets bare, and show it off to the world. Because, people need to be reminded that they are only as good as the little demons in their head." A smile stretched across her face. "We all have demons. Little, evil, demons whispering in out ear."

Harleen cleared her throat.

Chris narrowed her eyes, the smirk growing. "Am I making you feel un _com_ for- _ti_ -ble?" She leaned forward. "Have a hit a n _e_ rve? Little Harley? Little Harley... _Quinn_?"

"We're here to talk about you, not me." Harleen defended cooly.

"Oh, ho! I _have_!" Chris shook her head. "Tsk, tsk. I think you may be the one to need a psychiatric evaluation. Borderline, is it?"

Harleen froze. "How-?"

Chris grinned toothily. "I know the crazies when I see them, _Harlequin_."

"He called me that." Harleen breathed.

Chris' face darkened. "Who?"

"The Joker... he called me that. Harlequin..." She took a breath to still her nerves. "Why do you want me to know your name?"

Chris raised a brow. "Changing the subject are we? I'll humor you for now. I want people to know our story, at least a little bit of it."

"Why?"

The grin nearly split Chris' face all over again. "So they know just how easy it is for an angel to turn into a demon..."

* * *

 **AN:** _So we got to meet Harley Quinn. We'll be seeing some more of her later. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with Harley just yet. We'll be seeing some other Gotham villains as we go as well. Try and guess who, and makes some suggestions if you like._


End file.
